The House Of Silk

were full of tears. ‘I will tell you a terrible thing, Dr Watson. Part of me wants her to die. I have never thought that of another human being, not even my first husband when he was at his most drunken and violent. But sometimes I find myself thinking that if Eliza were to go, at least Edmund and I would be left in peace. She seems intent on tearing us apart.’
    ‘Would you like me to come with you to Wimbledon?’ I asked.
    ‘Would you?’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Edmund did not want me to see Sherlock Holmes. There were two reasons. As far as he was concerned, his business with your colleague was over. The man from Boston who was shadowing him is dead and there seems nothing more to be done. And were we to bring a detective to the house, he feared it would only persuade Eliza that she was right.’
    ‘Whereas you thought …?’
    ‘I hoped Mr Holmes would prove my innocence.’
    ‘If it will help to ease your mind, I will be glad to accompany you,’ I said. ‘I should warn that I am only a general practitioner and my experience is limited, but my long collaboration with Sherlock Holmes has given me an eye for the unusual and it may be that I notice something that your other advisers have missed.’
    ‘Are you sure, Dr Watson? I would be so very grateful. I still sometimes feel such a stranger in this country that it’s a blessing to have anyone on my side.’
    We left together. I had no wish at all to leave Baker Street but I could see that there was nothing to be gained by sitting there on my own. Although Lestrade was active on my behalf, I had yet to be given permission to visit Holmes at Holloway. Mycroft would not arrive at the Diogenes Club until the afternoon. And despite what Mrs Carstairs had said, the mystery of the man in the flat cap was far from resolved. It would be interesting to see Edmund Carstairs and his sister again, and although I knew that I was a very poor replacement for Holmes himself, it still might be possible that I would see or hear something that might shed a little light on what was happening and hasten my friend’s release.
    Carstairs was not at first pleased to see me when I presented myself in the hallway of his home with its elegant artworks and softly ticking clock. He had been about to leave for lunch and was meticulously dressed in a frock coat, grey satin cravat and well-varnished shoes. His top hat and walking stick were on a table by the door. ‘Dr Watson!’ he exclaimed. He turned to his wife. ‘I thought we had agreed that we would not be resorting to the services of Sherlock Holmes.’
    ‘I am not Holmes,’ I said.
    ‘Indeed not. I was just reading in the paper that Mr Holmes has fallen into the most disreputable circumstances.’
    ‘He did so in pursuit of the business that you brought to his door.’
    ‘A business that has now been concluded.’
    ‘He does not think so.’
    ‘I beg to disagree.’
    ‘Come, Edmund,’ Mrs Carstairs cut in. ‘Dr Watson has very kindly travelled with me all the way from London. He has agreed to see Eliza and give us the benefit of his opinion.’
    ‘Eliza has already been seen by several doctors.’
    ‘And one more opinion can’t hurt.’ She took his arm. ‘You have no idea what it’s been like for me these last few days. Please, my dear. Let him see her. It may help her, too, even if it’s only to have someone else to whom she can complain.’
    Carstairs relented. He patted her hand. ‘Very well. But it won’t be possible for a while. My sister rose late this morning and I heard her drawing a bath. Elsie is with her now. It will be at least thirty minutes before she is presentable.’
    ‘I am quite happy to wait,’ I said. ‘But I will use the time, if I may, to examine the kitchen. If your sister persists in her belief that her food is being tampered with, it may prove useful to see where it is prepared.’
    ‘Of course, Dr Watson. And you must forgive my rudeness just now. I wish Mr Holmes well and I am glad to see you. It’s just that this nightmare never seems to stop. First Boston, then my poor mother, that business at the hotel, now Eliza. Only yesterday I acquired a gouache from the school of Rubens, a fine study of Moses at the Red Sea. But now I wonder if I am not afflicted by curses as fearsome as those experienced by the Pharaohs.’
    We went downstairs and into a large, airy kitchen so filled with pots and pans, steaming cauldrons and chopping boards that it gave the impression of being